


A holiday in the 21st century

by Firecadet



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7193792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firecadet/pseuds/Firecadet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting bored, Vastra decides she and Jenny are going to take a holiday in the 21st century. Shenanigans inevitably result. As do encounters with London's finest.</p><p>Minor warning for victorian swearing. And Vastra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Jenny and Vastra arrive in the 21st Century and arrange lodgings.

“What the bliddy hell do I need a driver’s license fer?!” Jenny demanded, from the rear seat of a police car, approximately three miles as the crow flies from the Palace of Westminister. “I ain’t ‘it no-one! Same fer bleeding insurance.”

The officer looked at the girl he was currently assuming to be Australian, based on her accent. “It’s a legal requirement to drive a motor vehicle in the UK, Madam.” He replied. “I also need to see your passport or another form of ID.”

“Me passport’s at home.” Jenny said, before digging into a pocket and extracting one of her calling cards from her jacket. “Does this count as ID?” she asked, holding out her card.

“Have you got anything with your photo on it?” the now somewhat irritated officer asked, as he took the card, and read it quickly. “What… madam, I’m arresting you for driving a motor vehicle without a licence, driving a motor vehicle without insurance and wasting police time. I will also be investigating if you are in the country legally or not. I’m required to inform you that you do not have to say anything, but that it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything that you do say may be given in evidence.”

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

To fully understand how Jenny ended up in the back of a twenty-first century police car, facing a number of charges, it is best to rewind approximately twenty minutes, and explain what she is doing in the twenty-first century in the first place. It had been Vastra’s idea, mostly. After hitching a lift with the Doctor to get to the 21st century somewhere in Britain, they’d quickly ended up in London. Under strict orders to avoid a particular nursing home, they’d travelled to central London, and it hadn’t been long before Clara Oswald had opened her door, expecting an amazon delivery, and instead found Vastra standing outside with a carpet bag.

“Jenny is outside with the rental horseless carriage.” Vastra said, stepping through the door. “The Doctor was kind enough to lend us some of this time period’s money so we could travel around. Is there a cup of tea available?”

Shaking her head, Clara led the Silurian into the kitchen.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Outside in the road, Jenny was forced to move by a large vehicle, the driver of which did not seem particularly keen to avoid the rear of the small car she’d hired. As she was looking for somewhere to re-park, she had a minor case of wheelspin going around a corner. Unfortunately, it happened right in front of a police car.

Jenny wasn’t overly familiar with the twenty-first century, but she was pretty certain that if a police car was driving close behind you, with blue lights flashing, and the driver was gesturing towards the kerb, it meant it was time to pull over. She did so, taking a few metres less than Clara might have to brake to a stop. One of the officers got out and came over to the driver’s door.

“Can you come and sit in the back of my car, Madam?” he asked, looking around. It wasn’t an area where police officers were at risk of attack, but he could see a couple of people glaring out of windows as Jenny climbed out, sensibly bringing her keys with her, and got in the back of the police car.

Once the doors were closed, the officers got down to business.

“The reason I stopped you was the manner of your driving, Madam.” The officer sitting in the front passenger seat explained. “You span your wheels going around that last corner, and your braking just now was very abrupt.”

“I apologise, Constable.” Jenny replied. “I ‘aven’t bin drivin’ very long.”

“Have you got your driving license and insurance paperwork with you?” She was asked.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

When the car door was opened, so that handcuffs could be applied, Jenny half-considered making a break for it. This was a part of London she’d used to know well. She also saw the officer notice the slight flex as she began the move to swing her legs around. The man pulled a canister from of a belt pouch, although it was still attached by a bungee. She gave the man a smile that said ‘I had to try’, before holding out her hands.

Police handcuffs, she observed, had changed a lot. Rather than the fiddly models of her era, a single, easily gripped bar connected the cuffs. Rather than requiring a key, they secured as soon as they were on, using what looked like a ratchet system.

The other primary change from her era was that the restraints were designed to make doing anything at all very hard for the wearer. Her hands were now positioned so that they faced in opposite directions, and the cuffs made it to rotate them. She also couldn’t reach her lock picks, either the primary set inside her belt, or the reserve set in the heel of her left boot.

She was pleasantly impressed by the ride of the car, as well. Even with the best suspension and wheels money could buy, the Paternoster Coupe was still uncomfortable to ride in. Her current conveyance barely transmitted the road surface at all.

Smiling, she looked forward. “This car ‘as right good suspension.” She commented, remembering to call it a car, not a horseless carriage. Vastra had received odd looks in the rental dealership after making that slip.

She received a rather blank look in reply.

“It’s ok, I suppose.” The officer who’d arrested her replied. “Not the best in the pool, by a long margin.”

Jenny decided at that point not to attract any more attention.

About ten minutes later, she was offloaded, and led into a room with a desk and an officer standing behind it. _Guess some thin’s ‘aven’t changed since my time._ She thought, with a wry smile.

Then she decided to behave herself.

When the desk sergeant asked for her name, she replied: “I need to make a phone call, rather urgently. The number is on a card in my purse.”

“Name, please?” The man repeated.

 _Ok, I’ll play along._ Jenny decided. “Jennifer Flint.”

“Date of birth?”

“Fifteen o’ june, eighteen seventy one. Can I make me phonecall now?”

The desk sergeant looked up at her, before looking back down at the screen.

“Can I have your real date of birth now?” he asked.

“I just gave it to you.” Jenny replied.

She got a level look. It was similar to the one Vastra would bestow on her for serving chicken three nights in a row. “You are not one hundred and forty four years old.”

“Let me have my purse.” She repeated.

“Sarge…” the officer in possession of her purse said. “She’s got a whole bunch of bills in funny looking handwriting, and a bunch of what look like business cards. Only the address on them is Thirteen Paternoster Row.”

“Where?” the desk sergeant replied.

“I don’t know, sarge. Is that cabby on the robbery case still here?”

There was a short conversation on the radio, before they got a response. “He’s never heard of it.”

“Just let me make a bliddy phone call!” Jenny burst out, shifting against the cuffs that were still around her wrists. “The number’s on a card in my purse.”

There was a certain amount of glancing around, before what she hoped was the correct card was extracted and used to make a phone call, before she was passed the phone.

“Jenny Flint ‘ere.” She said, looking up at the desk sergeant, and mouthing ‘where am I?’ “I’m down at Fenchurch police station.” She then passed the phone back.

There were a few moments of conversation, before the desk sergeant took on a look of resignation.

 

"Put her in a cell, Rob. They're sending someone round with the paperwork to get her back."

"The Australian embassy?" Rob replied, curiously.

"Whoever was on the end of the phone line."

"Hoi. Can I make a bleeding phone-call or what?" Jenny asked.

"As it would appear you won't be our guest for long, I suppose it can't hurt." The custody sergeant replied, handing over the phone. "What's the number?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Vastra, meanwhile, was behaving like she normally did. With a cup of earl grey in her hand, she was sitting next to the window in Clara's flat, people-watching. Next to her, Clara was enjoying her own cup of tea, and listening interestingly as the Silurian attempted to apply her knowledge of victorian behavior and dress to modern humans. 

"Clara, I forget how refreshing it is to live in a society where people don't dress in five layers of fabric." Vastra said. "Admittedly, there are more apes, and they still stare, but you can get away with a lot more. Jenny told the man at the horseless carriage hire firm we were going to a 'con'. I'm a bit confused, because traveling to commit fraud isn't normally something that you advertise."

"It's a Convention, Vastra." Clara replied. "People dress in up costumes from star wars and things. Look silly, have fun, buy tacos, that sort of thing." She glanced out of the window curiously. "I know the traffic around here isn't the best, but it shouldn't have taken her this long to go around the block."

Vastra looked up sharply.

"I'm sure she's fine." Clara said, hurriedly. "She's probably stopped at the corner shop for a few pints of milk or something."

Following the law of narrative causality, the phone want just as Clara finished speaking. As it was on a coffee table next to her chair, she picked it up within two rings.

"Hello?" She said.

"Hi Clara." Jenny said. "Don't let 'er worry, I'm just down at Fenchurch police station."

"What exactly are you doing there?" Clara asked, seeing the silurian perk up, like a pointer scenting a rabbit.

"Bein' locked up." Jenny said, nonchalantly. "Some twaddle 'bout a driver's license."

"You don't have one?" Clara asked, resignedly.

"I know I cin drive." Jenny responded. "And I ain't hit anything, so why were they on 'bout insurance?"

"It's the rules." Clara replied. "You need a license that says you've been taught to drive, and insurance which says someone else with a lot of money will pick up the tab if you hit someone."

"Oh." Jenny said. "She just showed the bloke at the hors... car 'ire place 'er paper, and 'e 'anded over the keys."

Turning away from the phone, Clara gave Vastra a look. This particular look meant 'Using psychic paper on car hire staff is bad." Vastra looked back with a look of total innocence. (1)

"Do they need someone to come and retrieve you?" Clara asked.

"Unit are sendin' someone down." Jenny told her. Clara relaxed. "I'll see you in a couple of hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will explain more about why they decided to go on holiday in subsequent chapters.
> 
> The idea of Jenny ending up in a traffic car made me laugh a lot. Which caused me to write it.
> 
> (1) Vastra's innocent look is similar to that of a front row Rugby forward found in a thoroughly illegal position at the bottom of a ruck. And about as believable to the experienced.


	2. In which Jenny is returned to Vastra

Jenny’s accommodation was almost luxury, compared to what she was used to. Despite being the maidservant to Vastra, and possessing her own badge, she’d spent a few hours in custody now and again. Normally, this was voluntary, placing her in the same Black Maria as a known offender who they wanted to get to confess. Admittedly, she’d spent a few nights in the cells early in her relationship with Vastra, after being caught breaking and entering during an investigation.

In her era, a police cell was small, damp and extremely unpleasant. Vermin were usually present in cells, and if there was anywhere to sit at all, it would be a crude bench. Instead, she was in a small, clinical room, with a padded bench and actual toilet. The door was a steel plate, rather than the bars of her own era. More to the point, there was no way for her to get at the lock.

That said, they’d relieved of her belt, and the picks within it. Her shoes, as they were slip-ons, had been left on her feet, and not even given a perfunctory examination. If it’d been a Victorian cell, she reckoned she’d have been out in two shakes of a whistle. At a guess, the boot was no longer the preferred hiding place for lockpicks, assuming anyone still carried them.

With a glance at the door, she simply curled up on the padded mattress, and activated her ability, gained on the streets of London, to fall asleep.

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

She woke up almost instantly when the door to her cell swung open, her hand falling to the place where, once, she’d carried a short dagger. For a female on the streets of London, it had been a vital precaution. She blushed slightly as she remembered where she was, and clambered to her feet.

The man who’d opened her cell was a classic Whitehall bureaucrat. Dressed in a classic grey suit, he simply looked over her, before handing a folded piece of paper to the desk sergeant. “I’ll take things from here.” He said. Once the desk sergeant was back behind his desk, he smiled, ruefully, “Lady Jennifer Flint. Or should I call you Lady Jennifer Zhieskeh?”

“’Ow the bliddly ‘ell did yer know that?” Jenny demanded. “It took ‘er years ter tell me ‘er surname.”

The bureaucrat smiled. “We have lots of resources.” He said, almost smugly.

He lost the smug look on his face when Jenny, quite casually, punched him in the stomach. There were no running feet, so she assumed that the camera was currently non-functional.

“If you’d like to come with me.” The man wheezed. “I’ll take you to the nearest taxi rank.”

The walk through the police station was quiet, once a bag containing her belongings had been returned to her. Her ride in the taxi, without the bureaucrat, was relaxing. She spent the trip listening to an almost familiar accent, and recognising that one way of life she’d been familiar with remained, at least. The trip back to Clara’s apartment was smooth enough that she relaxed.

Once Clara had buzzed her in, and she’d climbed the steps, Jenny was entirely unsurprised to step through the door, and promptly be lassoed by her wife. The Silurian’s tongue wrapped around her neck, and reeled her in, depositing her on Vastra’s lap.

“I hear someone has been a very naughty ape.” Vastra said, almost crooningly.

“I hear someone didn’t even notice I’d disappeared.” Jenny replied, snuggling against the cold blooded Silurian. “Not until I called from the station.”

Although she wasn’t by any standard a prude, Clara still ended up coughing slightly. “Err… would you mind going through to the spare room?” she asked. The sight of two women more or less making out on her sofa wasn’t uncomfortable for her. It was the fact that she knew from her stays at the Row that making out sessions meant sex. Usually within minutes. And that Vastra rarely waited to be in a bedroom.

There was a wolfish smile from Vastra, before she carried her wife through to the spare bedroom, which Clara kept ready in case of Doctor-related guests.

When the noises started, Clara decided to turn on the television.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Without their usual collection of toys and supplies, Vastra was forced to improvise.  Holding Jenny’s wrists, the silurian simply pinned her wife’s hands above her head, before her tongue slid down through several layers of clothing, and Jenny tensed with anticipation.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

About half an hour later, the pair emerged from the bedroom, and Clara emerged from the kitchen, the furthest point away, geographically, from the spare bedroom. In one hand, she proffered a tea tray, almost like a crucifix. The tray was laden with two cups of English earl grey, and a plate with eight milk chocolate biscuits. When Vastra reached for one, Jenny just tapped her on her central lobe.

Vastra promptly gave her a look like a sulky teenager, before taking her tea and appearing to sulk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vastra's surname is based on Irissteth's silurian dictionary. It literally translates as one who leads.
> 
> I'll be away on holiday for a couple of weeks, but should have an update ready when I get back, assuming none have magically appeared in the meantime.


End file.
